


Peter vs The Love Potion

by RedUmbrella89



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Tony Stark, F/M, Fantasy AU, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Good and bad witches being bros, Love Potion/Spell, Love Triangles, Magic and Science, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, One True Pairing, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony is Tony but not really - he's Anthony, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedUmbrella89/pseuds/RedUmbrella89
Summary: Here's what you need to know: Peter loves Michelle. Harry also loves Michelle. But Michelle only loves Peter. In the Dukedom of Quburgh (pronounced Kwee-Bruh) witches and love potions exist. Read on for chaos, heartache, true love and an exasperated apothecary.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Harry Osborn, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. The Beginning

In a beautiful country, adorned with rolling hills, snow-capped mountains and crystal rivers there is a Dukedom called Quburgh. This Dukedom is home to many faiths, races and magical beings. It would be splendid to regale you with a tale from each person in this land but unfortunately there is not time. Perhaps another will be able to do what I cannot. I certainly hope so as they all have their own stories filled with desires, conflicts and trials and deserve to be told.

This tale revolves around a young man called Peter. An apothecary’s assistant, Peter earns an honest living and has a good heart, but he is, by general consensus, perfectly ordinary. Now, some might not appreciate this description of Peter since to be called ‘ordinary’ has evolved to be a rather negative description of one’s person. But, as we all know, quite often those who appear ordinary have the most extraordinary souls and this is most certainly the case with our Peter. Peter is also very lucky as he has found, at a young age, a special person whom he loves with his whole heart.

Her name is Michelle. She is, by societies’ standard, far more important than Peter. Michelle is the daughter of the most successful merchant in Quburgh. She has invites to every salon and dinner, she garners attention from many suitors (if you saw her, you would not question as to why) and has access to the Duke’s personal library. This last perk is the only one that really mattered to Michelle.

That is not to say that she has access to the Duke himself. The Duke is the most important man in Quburgh and is always sequestered away in meetings and judgements and all the other things that come with fancy titles. His eldest son, Richard, is usually holed up in these meetings as well so no one really sees much of him either. 

However, his second son, Harry, is a close friend of Michelle’s. He is also a friend of Peter’s, in a fashion, but as I said, Peter is considered an ordinary young man, and ordinary young men don’t develop close friendships with sons of dukes. 

Harry is handsome, titled, rich and generous. He would be a fantastic match for Michelle, but her heart already belongs to Peter and Peter’s belongs to her. It is unfortunate for Harry that Michelle isn’t swayed by titles and riches. It is also unfortunate for Harry that Peter also happens to be handsome and generous as well as being selfless, loyal and loving. 

To sum up: Peter loves Michelle. Harry also loves Michelle. But Michelle only loves Peter. 

It is a cruel world that allows unrequited love to exist. To snap my fingers and release every pining soul from torment would be a fine thing but, alas, I do not have that power. Luckily – or perhaps unluckily, that is for you to decide as this story unfolds – magic exists in Quburgh. 

Magic is not feared or hidden away as a dirty little secret for people to use in dank cellars and private ceremonies just as it isn’t celebrated or revered. It merely exists, as alchemy and bribery exists, ready for people to access. If one knew a witch. 

Magic was used in Quburgh for all manner of reasons – some people might want to enhance their appearance; other’s may wish to hold stars in their hands, and some may desire to capture the affection of one they love. 

I am sure you have heard of love potions before and, whether you believe in them or not, I can assure you that in Quburgh they are very real and very potent. We will discuss the moral points of using such a potion at a later date; for now, it is not relevant. The only thing to know is that witches exist, love potions exist and that certain people suffering through the pain of unrequited love have access to them. Indeed, if there was one person who would have access to a witch it would be a very well connected, very wealthy heir to a dukedom.

For now, that is enough background to our story. Let us progress with our tale and see what is happening in the town. 

It is a bright morning. It is chilly and obscured with mist, but bright. That meant that it would become a warm day. Perfect, thought Michelle’s father – remember him, the successful merchant – as he made his way to his warehouse by the docks. People are always happier when the weather is fine and when people are happy, they spend money. Of course, people buy things when they are unhappy too, but good weather makes people more likely to spend excessively.

Phil – that’s his name - is one of those men who thrives on negotiation. Trust me when I say that you would not like to barter with the man. He could sell a bowl of water to a fish for a profit. Phil had tried to pass this talent on to his daughter, but Michelle was more of a straight shooter than her father. She was honest to a fault and not one for going around the fences to achieve a goal. 

This forthright attitude served her well for the most part, however now and then Michelle, much like her father, came across a tricky customer. That morning presented her with a particular challenge in the form of a playful apprentice who refused to get out of her bed.

‘You need to leave,’ MJ said again, nudging Peter’s prone form. The boy in question was sprawled across her, his fingers stroking gently up and down her waist as he nuzzled her neck. 

‘Mmm, make me,’ he mumbled, lipping at the skin beneath her ear. 

Michelle smiled. ‘You’ll be late. Again.’

‘Don’t care,’ Peter responded.

‘You should,’ Michelle said, pulling at his hair playfully. She didn’t want him to go but Michelle was more pragmatic than Peter. They both had things to do…but damn, if he didn’t feel good snuggled against her.

‘Let me check,’ Peter said, lifting his head. He scanned his gaze down the length of her body, then pulled them back up to her face. ‘Nope,’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘Definitely don’t care.’

Michelle laughed and playfully slapped his arm. ‘Well I have a meeting with Harry to get ready for, so…’

Peter huffed. ‘If he doesn’t listen to you again, let me know. I’ll slip something nasty into his cologne.’

‘I think I’m getting somewhere. I have collected a lot of historical evidence from the library and he has promised to look at it this time.’ 

‘He’ll probably ignore it all again,’ Peter said. 

‘Thank you for the vote of confidence’, MJ responded, palming his face off her neck. She didn’t get far before his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. He peppered soft kisses along her shoulder. 

‘You are the smartest, most determined, caring, beautiful…’ Each word was punctuated by a kiss until his words trailed off and Peter was just caressing her skin. Michelle nudged him with her shoulder.

‘Was there a point to which you were building?’ She asked.

‘My point is, if there is anyone who can get through to him, it is you.’ He gave her a gentle squeeze, resting his chin on her shoulder. ‘I don’t like it when he dismisses your ideas.’

Michelle shifted so she could look at Peter. Sat behind her with his hair all mussed from sleep MJ was filled with an intense rush of affection for him. She linked her fingers through his. ‘I know. Thankfully, I don’t put great stock in his opinion of me. I’ll get through to him eventually,’ she added. 

Peter smiled and his face softened as he looked at the beautiful girl in his arms. ‘There’s the determination.’ 

Peter pulled Michelle in for a kiss, snaking his hand into her hair. Michelle leaned into him, her own hand coming up to cup his neck. With a playful nose rub Michelle broke away, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

‘You’re not getting me back in those sheets,’ she said.

Peter grinned as she pulled away. ‘Worth a shot.’ He stood up and started to dress. ‘I can’t believe Mr Anthony is sending me to the fair. Will you miss me while I’m gone?’

‘Most of the time,’ Michelle answered, as she too dressed.

‘What about the rest of the time?’

‘I am a busy woman, Peter, I don’t spend every second thinking about you,’ Michelle answered honestly. 

‘Ouch,’ Peter said, feeling the sting of her words.

MJ looked at Peter’s wounded expression and walked over to him. She slipped her hands under his shirt and ran her fingers over his back. ‘I may not spend every second thinking of you, but when I do…’ MJ leaned in close so that her breath tickled Peter’s face. ‘Those moments are very special.’ She felt Peter shiver at her touch, and she couldn’t resist locking her lips with his. For all she had been the one to push them out of bed, he was very tempting, and Michelle was only human. I would challenge any reader to have not done the same in her position. 

Peter was only too happy to indulge her; his hands were on her waist in an instant, pulling her flush to him and he nibbled at her bottom lip, requesting permission to pull her deeper into the kiss. Michelle readily acquiesced. 

It was a good thing that Mr Johnson – that is Michelle’s last name, Johnson – was not at home as he would not have at all approved of the situation. He was fond of Peter, but no parent would be particularly happy with the amount of amorous activity currently taking place in their daughter’s bedroom. 

Reluctantly – very reluctantly – Peter and Michelle broke apart. 

‘I have something for you to take with you,’ Michelle said. She walked to her writing table and pulled out a fold of fabric from the drawer. With a shy expression she handed it to Peter, his interest thoroughly piqued. 

His face softened to one of pure affection when he opened the fabric. Laying inside was a dried and perfectly preserved black dahlia flower. 

‘MJ…’ he said softly. MJ shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed.

‘It’s just a loan. I want it back when you return.’

‘I promise,’ Peter said. He stepped to her and gently cupped her cheek. ‘I love you, never forget that.’

‘You’re only going for a month,’ Michelle said dismissively. At Peter’s serious expression she softened and rested her forehead against his. ‘I love you too,’ she said. 

Peter pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Whereas their other kiss had been full of passion and desire this was a kiss of pure love. 

‘I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back,’ Peter promised. With a final peck on her lips he climbed through the window, preparing to jump out.

‘Use the door, you dork,’ Michelle said, laughing. 

Peter grinned. ‘This is so much more fun!’ 

With that he jumped onto a nearby roof and began his clamber over the town rooftops to the Apothecary’s shop, his heart as light as his step.

Speaking of the Apothecary, the man was, at this very moment, so deep in concentration that he hadn’t even registered that Peter was late. His name is Anthony and he is very dedicated to his work; he had already been up for several hours working on a new ointment request. His true passion was actually alchemy, but alchemy isn’t a particularly lucrative career and bills had to be paid somehow. Luckily for him, alchemy and being an apothecary went together quite nicely. Even luckier was that he was very talented at both. 

The ointment that he is working on is for a member of the Duke’s household. Oh yes, Anthony is the personal physician to the Duke and his family, which is consequently how Peter was friendly, if not friends with, Harry. The ointment he is concocting is to assist with…well, let’s just say a rather personal rash for one of the esteemed family (it was not Harry). 

Anthony was just adding the final drop to the glass tube when he heard scratching sounds on the roof. Pulling back from his very precise work he sighed. A few moments later Peter swung in through the window, landing in an annoyingly graceful pose. 

‘Would it kill you to use the door?’ Anthony asked.

Peter shrugged as he stood up. ‘It’s more fun, Mr. Anthony.’ He peered over his mentor’s shoulder. ‘Can I help?’

‘You can be quiet for ten seconds,’ Anthony grumbled. 

Peter rolled his eyes and hopped onto a stool, waiting for Mr. Anthony to finish his work. In no time there was a large flash and a billow of smoke and Mr. Anthony was removing his goggles. 

‘Now,’ Anthony said, turning to face Peter. He had deduced by now that Peter was late; partly due to his scrambling on his roof but also because Peter tended to bring Anthony food when he arrived on time. When he was late, this little habit fell by the wayside. Of course, Anthony knew exactly where Peter had been and why he was late. He debated having a little fun and grilling Peter to make the boy squirm, but ultimately decided against it, just in case he opened himself up to details that he really did not want. 

He decided instead on giving Peter a list of chores to do ahead of his departure, but the young man’s sulky expression halted him. ‘What’s with the face?’ 

Peter glanced up. ‘What face?’

Anthony pointed at Peter. ‘That one.’

‘I just,’ Peter huffed and glanced out of the window, his fingers twisting in his lap. Anthony shook his head. Peter had so many tells when something was bothering him, calling him an open book was an understatement. ‘Michelle is meeting with Harry again,’ he said finally.

‘Oh, good, so it’s not important,’ Anthony said and turned back to his worktable. 

‘He clearly has feelings for her, Sir, and it…it bugs me,’ Peter said miserably. 

Now, let me be clear. Peter is not a naturally jealous person, but love can do strange things to a person. Even if one knows, logically, that their beloved loves them and they are secure in their relationship, if another person starts to show affection to one’s significant other, it doesn’t feel good. It gives rise to every insecurity and, as amazing a person as Peter was, he was not without insecurities.

‘It’s just…he clearly covets MJ, Sir. It is so obvious.’

Anthony snorted in amusement. ‘Yeah, he’s obvious,’ he muttered. His amusement erupted into laughter upon seeing Peter’s irritated face and he continued, ‘Look, the last I checked MJ was still very much into you, kid, so…can we move on? Do you have the list prepared for the fair?’

‘Yes, it’s here,’ Peter fetched the list of supplies from his small workstation. 

‘Good, now go pack.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Peter,’ Anthony called. Peter, who had already disappeared up the ladder to his room, poked his head back down through the ceiling hatch. ‘You and Michelle will be fine. It doesn’t matter if Harry wants her, she wants you. That’s all that matters.’

Peter smiled. ‘Thanks Mr. Anthony.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Anthony said, then waving his hand at Peter. ‘Now clear off. I’m going to go wash this moment off me.’

Peter left that afternoon. Anthony was sending him to look after his stall at an annual fair and to collect ingredients that were usually difficult to get hold of. The apothecary would have gone himself but one condition of being the personal physician for the Duke and his family was being available at all times. His disappearance for a month last year did not go down well so this time Peter was sent off instead. 

It would be great to tell you that it was an uneventful month and that nothing of note happened but then this story would be a lot shorter. As it is, a terrible thing happened: a wedding. 

Some of you may predict the significance of this wedding. It was a grand affair held at the Duke’s estate with a beautiful bride and proud groom. The town celebrated and most of the citizens were delighted by the event. Several, including Anthony, were deeply troubled by it.

Anthony was especially troubled because it fell on him to tell Peter when he returned. That day arrived all too quickly and suddenly it was the day Peter was due back. 

Anthony paced in his workshop, the room filled with tobacco smoke. His pipe had been lit all morning, as Anthony tried, and failed, to calm the pit of anxiety in his stomach. The day had barely cleared morning when his apprentice bounded through the door, his face alight with happiness at being home. 

‘Sir,’ said Peter, dumping his pack on the floor. ‘I have everything you need, and I will do a full inventory with you – the cart is outside – but I need to run and see MJ. I promised to see her as soon as I got back, and I have something to return to her.’ Peter was talking so quickly that Anthony struggled to get a word in.

‘Pete,’ he started. ‘Sit down, I need to tell you something.’

‘Can it wait, I really need to go see MJ,’ Peter said, practically humming with excitement over seeing her. 

‘That’s the thing, you can’t see Michelle.’

‘Mr. Anthony, I promise I will be back within the hour and I will go through every single item on the cart, I’ll catalogue it all for you, I just-‘

‘Peter,’ Anthony interrupted. For every second Peter stood in front of him looking so excited, the ache in Anthony’s heart grew. At Anthony’s grave tone, Peter finally fell quiet. ‘You can’t go to see Michelle.’

Peter’s face dropped as a horrible sinking feeling settled in his stomach and an immense sense of dread washed over him. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘What’s going on?’

Anthony took a step towards Peter. The boy was stood frozen in the middle of the shop, his eyes fixed on the older man. Anthony could almost feel the anxiety coming off him. Anthony inhaled deeply and looked Peter straight in the eye.

‘Pete, I don’t know how to tell you this…’ he began. Peter’s heart constricted in his chest; he had never been more terrified of an answer in his life. 

‘Michelle is married. She married Harry a week ago.’

And with that, Peter’s world shattered.


	2. Entrenched in denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter deals with the immediate aftermath of receiving the worst news of his life and Anthony has a run in with a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and for all those who commented, left kudos and bookmarked the story! I hope you enjoy chapter 2 :) !

I imagine some of you will be wondering why Michelle, when she was so clearly in love with Peter, would suddenly marry Harry. The sad truth is that she married Harry because she loves him – Michelle loves Harry exactly as she had loved Peter. If she had been coerced into the marriage by threats or bribery it would be a lot easier to fix the situation; Peter would simply break into the Duke’s home and whisk Michelle away but, unfortunately, Michelle has no desire to leave her new husband. 

Anthony had been highly suspicious of the whole situation ever since he received his wedding invitation and now, as he sat watching Peter sleep, he was more perturbed than ever.

Peter had been distraught at the news, to the degree that Anthony had barricaded Peter in the workshop to stop the boy from running straight to MJ to hear the truth for himself. He had then spent hours standing sentry outside the workshop window to stop Peter from escaping, which, of course, had been the first thing the boy had tried. 

Peter’s reaction was the nail in the coffin for Anthony to know that something was not right. Peter and Michelle may have kept their relationship a secret, but Anthony was only too aware how much in love the two of them were. He hadn’t meant to know; him finding out had been an accident. Young love wasn’t that subtle at the best of times and the two lovebirds had quickly learnt that a lot could be seen through ground floor windows. 

Anthony scrubbed his hand across his face. He needed a shave. The last time he had done so was the day of the wedding. 

It had been a beautiful affair. The courtyard in the Duke’s estate had been decorated with coloured lamps and flowers; luscious scents filled the air as music flowed gently in the background and everyone was wearing their best clothes. Despite all of the beauty and splendour Anthony hadn’t enjoyed any of it. He had felt sick. He’d been convinced that he would see a miserable Michelle, forced into the marriage somehow. But what he saw was worse than he could have possibly imagined: she was happy. She had looked radiant. 

Peter mumbled in his sleep, drawing Anthony’s attention back to the present. The apothecary had given Peter a sleeping draught, so he wouldn’t be waking up any time soon. Anthony hadn’t told Peter it was a sleeping draught. He knew the boy well enough to know he would refuse it, but Peter was exhausted after his trip and Anthony knew he would need to be well rested before undertaking any action in regards to Michelle. 

As he watched the boy sleep Anthony thought again to how Michelle had looked on her wedding day. The joy in her face, the look of affection and love as she looked at Harry, it was all so wrong. 

Hearing someone enter the shop downstairs Anthony descended, leaving Peter to his rest. The customer was a small servant boy from the estate.

‘Good afternoon, young man. What does his Grace need today?’ Anthony asked. 

‘It’s a request from Malinda,’ the boy said, handing him a piece of paper. 

‘Just put it down over there,’ Anthony said, nodding to a space on the counter.

‘Lady Malinda said I had to give it to you,’ the boy said.

Anthony closed his eyes, willing patience. ‘You are giving it to me, I’ll get it from over there.’

‘I am to put it in your hands, Sir,’ the boy continued.

‘Yeah, I don’t like things to be handed to me.’

‘She was quite insistent, Sir,’ the boy continued. The little twerp wasn’t going to leave without putting the note directly in his hand.

He motioned the boy closer and gingerly plucked the piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Happy?’

The boy nodded and scampered away. 

Shaking his head in annoyance Anthony opened the note. Written inside was a simple message: We need to talk. 

He flipped it over but there was nothing else, just the words, ‘we need to talk’. He made to scrunch it up and throw it away when something strange happened. Have you ever opened your eyes underwater? You can make out shapes and colours, but items are blurred. This is what happened to Anthony. His vision blurred and the shop began morph into something else entirely. His wooden shelves changed into grey stone walls and the floor became an array of colourful carpets.

When the world had righted itself, Anthony breathed heavily through his nose, his irritation evident.

‘This,’ he said, brandishing the piece of paper, ‘is precisely why I don’t like to be handed things.’ 

Turning around Anthony faced the lady standing regally in the middle of the room. 

‘Malinda,’ he said, inclining his head in greeting.

We haven’t met Malinda yet, so let me tell you a little about her. Malinda is a witch, and, like Anthony, she personally assists the Duke and his household. I mentioned before that Anthony’s true passion is alchemy. Quite often magic and alchemy get lumped together as the same thing – neither party appreciates this, so it is somewhat of a sensitive subject – but they are quite different. Alchemy’s foundation is science and chemistry; the foundation of magic is supernatural and…well, magic.

Malinda is a very competent magic wielder. You would be forgiven for assuming that she had been practicing magic for hundreds of years, but you will find that it is impossible to ever know a witches age. They have a habit of changing their appearance as the whim takes them. Malinda has kept the same look for a long time. If one was to guess based purely on appearance you would put her in her mid to late forties.

‘Thank you for coming, she said politely.

Anthony grunted. ‘You’re welcome.’ 

Not one to be put on the back foot, Anthony took a moment to inspect his surroundings. He made a point of ignoring Malinda as he did so. Wandering around the room he fiddled with the collections of magical paraphernalia and thumbed through open books. Malinda made no move to stop him, she simply watched. 

A shimmer in the air drew his attention to a table in the far corner. Hovering above the table were two circles of what looked like gold dust. The shimmer that had caught his eye was the substance inside the circles. It was rippling softly, and it reflected the room behind him. Essentially, they looked like magical mirrors. 

An overwhelming curiosity grabbed Anthony. Gingerly – and foolishly – he reached out and put his hand through the circle. As soon as his fingers touched the shimmering surface they disappeared, only to immediately reappear via the other circle of gold dust. Anthony pulled his hand back for a moment as if considering his next move, before thrusting his entire arm up to his elbow into the circle. As before, his hand and forearm appeared through the other circle. He gave his fingers an experimental wriggle.

‘Well, that’s…disconcerting.’

‘Tony-‘

‘Anthony,’ he corrected.

‘Still?’ She asked and Anthony could hear the smile in her voice.

Pulling his arm back Anthony stood straight and turned to Malinda.

‘Can I help you with something?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Malinda responded simply, and she turned towards a large desk where she settled herself. ‘I was interested in your thoughts on Harry and Michelle’s wedding.’

Anthony stepped forward, incredulity lighting his face. ‘You summoned me,’ he began, leaning his palms on her desk. ‘No, summoning would have been polite – you abducted me to ask what I thought about a wedding.’

‘Yes.’

Anthony sat down unceremoniously on the chair opposite Malinda and folded his arms across his chest. He was not feeling particularly amiable after having been magically whisked from his own home and he made no attempt to hide his displeasure.

‘The champagne was a little sweet for my taste,’ he said flippantly, then, when Malinda didn’t respond he got straight to the point with, ‘What is this really about?’

‘I told you. I would like to hear your thoughts.’

‘Well, what did you think of it?’ He challenged. 

‘My opinion is not relevant,’ she said dismissively and continued to wait for Anthony to speak. The man was not one to give in easily however and after some extended silence Malinda added, ‘I recall you didn’t look particularly happy at the festivities,’ trying to draw a response from her belligerent guest. 

Anthony shrugged. ‘Weddings aren’t really my thing. Too crowded. From what I remember, you didn’t look too excited either; had a rather pinched look about you. Is that why I’m here, so we can have a good bitching session?

‘Michelle is a great girl. Harry is a lucky man.’

‘The sky is blue, and I hate cabbages. Oh, I’m sorry,’ Anthony adopted a pose of mock sincerity. ‘I thought we were saying irrelevant truths.’

‘I would have thought that you would be happy for Harry, being such a close, personal friend of the family.’

‘I work for the family, that’s a very different thing.’ Anthony studied Malinda for a moment before relaxing his body language. ‘Let’s just say I have a conflict of interest,’ he added.

‘As do I.’

Anthony caught Malinda’s poignant gaze and he nodded. They had finally gotten to it.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Tit for tat.’

Malinda smiled and came back at him with a simple question: ‘How is Peter?’

Anthony’s jaw clenched. This right here was why he disliked magic; it was manipulation and secrets, nothing was honest, least of all the witches who wielded it. He shouldn’t be surprised that she knew Peter’s part in all this.

‘About as well as you’d expect,’ he said, his anger thinly veiled. 

‘That’s understandable,’ she said, nodding gently.

‘Seeing as you know my tat,’ Anthony said, wanting to move the topic off Peter, ‘I think it only fair you show me your tit. So to speak.’ It may have been crude, but Anthony smirked at his own pun.

‘Alright,’ Malinda said and she reached into her robe. Pulling out a small vial she placed in on the table in front of him. It was filled a third of the way with a bright red liquid. Anthony made no move to touch it.

‘What is that?’

‘It is a love potion.’

Anthony stared at Malinda. Then, with a shake of the head, he laughed. This was not a laugh of mirth, mind you, it was cold and bitter. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ 

Standing, he started pacing, his hand rubbing his chin distractedly. ‘Are you serious? You’re not messing with me right now?’ 

‘No, I am not.’

‘Well, this is just…’ He trailed off, at a genuine loss for words. Of all the things, of course it was a sodding love potion. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked finally.

‘Harry came to me a while ago to request a potion to make the young lady fall in love with him,’ Malinda explained. ‘I told him no. This sort of magic goes against the laws of nature – it tampers with free will. This is not the magic that I believe in or that I practice and I certainly do not condone its use. As I correctly theorised, you do not approve of this union as I don’t. I told you as I may need your help in the future if we are to find a way to fix this.’

‘If you refused him then where did that come from?’ Anthony asked, angrily pointing at the potion.

‘I am not the only magic practitioner Anthony and you know that. I told the young duke that it couldn’t be done, hoping to dissuade him from that path.’

‘Well, clearly it didn’t work,’ Anthony said coldly. 

Malinda stood and moved round the front of her desk. Picking up the vial she held it up to her face, tilting it back and forth as she examined the contents. ‘Not all witches share my philosophies on the use of magic. Harry found someone who had no qualms about tampering with the darker side of our craft.’

‘This is why I hate magic,’ Anthony muttered. ‘No one should be able to manipulate others this way.’ He fixed Malinda with a hard stare. ‘So Michelle is under a love spell and that is why she has married Harry?’

Malinda nodded. ‘It would appear so, yes.’

Anthony hated the situation but at least it made sense now. He had debated whether MJ’s sudden change of heart had been part of some scheme to break her and Peter apart but given how adamant they had both been about keeping their relationship a secret it stood to reason that Harry hadn’t known that his actions would break them up. That was just a horrible casualty.

‘Who made it?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘I do not know,’ Malinda repeated, more forcefully. ‘But I have my suspicions.’ 

‘Can’t you just create a counter potion or something?’

‘No. This isn’t science. The spell is not mine therefore it cannot be undone by my hand.’

‘Well, that’s terrific. Good talk, very enlightening. If you’ll excuse me, I have something important to get back to.’ Anthony swept past Malinda, making to leave. This whole meeting had been pointless. All it had done was confirm his misgivings and then spat in his face because he could do nothing to fix the situation.

‘There might be a way,’ Malinda said. Anthony halted. ‘One heart to rescue another.’ 

He spun round and immediately advanced on Malinda. ‘No, no cryptic hyperbole.’ Anthony stood directly in front of her, his eyes hard. ‘I currently have a boy curled up in my attic, devastated because he just found out the love of his life married someone else. Is there a way to fix this, yes or no?’

‘I believe so.’

‘What is it?’

‘I need to make some inquiries before I can be sure. I will find you when I have more answers.’

‘This had better not be some sort of game, Malinda, because I can assure you, I will come for you if it is.’ With that he strode away and opened the door. At the threshold he stopped and turned. ‘You can convince yourself that this is not your doing but the second that you let Harry leave, knowing he could find someone else to make him that potion, and you did nothing to stop him, that puts the blame for this as much on you as anyone else.’

With that he left, slamming the door behind him. 

If you thought that Peter had been sound asleep during Anthony’s meeting with Malinda, you are mistaken. Despite Anthony administering a sleeping draught, the pain in the boy’s heart could not be soothed so easily. Sometimes the body is in too much distress for any sedative to take hold and as such it wasn’t too long after Anthony’s departure that Peter awoke.

He was confused at first but then, as his surroundings became familiar, the conversation with his mentor came flooding back. 

_‘Michelle is married. She married Harry…’_

The words replayed in Peter’s mind like a sick echo. He refused to believe it. Michelle had confirmed her love for him right before he left. It made no sense for her to marry Harry in his absence.  
Peter clung on to this belief as he hauled himself out of bed and into the street. He had no idea where Michelle was, but he was determined to find her. There would be a logical explanation and, once he found it, everything would be okay.

I won’t go into detail on where Peter looked and how long it took him, just know that he did eventually find Michelle. She was in the market square talking to one of the vendors. When Peter saw her a multitude of emotions coursed through him; relief was the greatest, but it was soon replaced by anxiety. Peter couldn’t put his finger on what it was but something about her looked different. The closest way to describe it would be to say that the woman in front of Peter just wasn’t his MJ. 

Peter shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He just needed to talk to her, then everything would be fine. He caught up to her as she moved leisurely along the stalls, reaching out a hand to grab her by the arm.

‘MJ,’ he said, pulling her round to face him. Michelle turned, surprised at the grip on her arm. When she saw Peter, her face broke out into a smile. 

‘Peter,’ she said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. This eased some of the anxiousness in his stomach and he glanced around, looking for a place where they could be alone. Seeing an alley nearby he manoeuvred the two of them towards it, not noticing in his haste the confused and not entirely happy expression on her face as he did so.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, pulling her arm out of Peter’s grasp.

Her action did not go unnoticed and a pang of fear shot through Peter’s chest. ‘MJ, what’s going on?’ he asked.

‘With what?’ she asked in return. This question did nothing to dissuade his fear and distress must have been clear as day on his face as she continued, ‘Are you okay? You look…frantic.’

‘I…’ Peter began. He looked frantic? Of course I’m frantic! he wanted to yell. He wanted to hold Michelle and beg her to stop playing this horrible game. He searched her face for any sign of mischief – he desperately looked for any indication that the whole thing was a joke – but MJ’s earnest concern was all that came back at him. 

‘MJ, you married Harry?’ he finally whispered, voicing the words that he had refused to accept. ‘What happened, what did he do?’

‘He asked me?’ she said slowly. MJ frowned in confusion. ‘Seriously Pete, are you okay?’ When he didn’t respond MJ continued on, seemingly oblivious to the hole she was currently tearing in the young man’s heart. ‘I’m sorry you weren’t able to come to the wedding, but Mr. Anthony said you were out of town.’

Peter stared at MJ. ‘You’re sorry I couldn’t come to the wedding?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. Did you think you weren’t invited?’

Something in Peter snapped then. ‘What about us!’ he cried, his hands coming up instinctively to cup her face.

MJ shifted away from his grasp and glanced around her, unnerved by Peter’s outburst. 

‘What are you talking about? Pete, I really think you should go lie down.’

‘No, I –‘

‘Michelle!’

Peter was interrupted by a voice calling her name. At the entrance to the alley was a woman – some sort of lady in waiting – gesturing to Michelle. She turned to Peter.

‘I have to go,’ she said, backing away, ‘but do ask Mr. Anthony if he has something to give you, you really don’t look good. I’ll come by the shop and see you soon.’

‘No, MJ, please, wait - ‘

‘I’ll see you soon Peter,’ MJ said before turning and leaving him alone.

Peter’s world constricted. The sounds from the market faded away and the walls surrounding Peter blurred until all he could see was Michelle walking away from him. His grip on reality vanished for a second and he stumbled back into the wall.

When one is given bad news, particularly of the romantic variety, the emotional responses to them are very strong. Up until this point Peter had been entrenched in denial. Denial was the safe space for Peter; whilst he clung to the belief that Michelle’s marriage wasn’t true, he could also keep the flame of hope alive. 

His chest felt tight as he crumpled to the ground. His mind was racing, and he struggled to make sense of the last few hours. Michelle was married. Firstly, to someone other than him and, secondly, to Harry. It had to be a horrible dream, Peter thought as the full force of the truth threatened to overwhelm him. His last morning with Michelle replayed over in his mind:

_‘I love you, never forget that.’_

_‘I love you too.’_

He felt sick with how poignant his words had been without him knowing. Because she had forgotten. Peter didn’t know how but Michelle wasn’t looking at him the same anymore. He had been released from the warmth of her embrace and cast out in the cold. 

People were starting to notice him slumped on the ground. When the first person asked if he was alright Peter hauled himself up and staggered away. He somehow managed to make his way back to the shop though he didn’t remember any of the journey. Everything around him – the people, the birds, the sunlight – was too much for him to process and he just wanted to be inside.

Anthony was nowhere to be found and Peter stood for a moment in the quiet of the workshop. His eyes scanned the shelves that lined the walls, every inch filled with books or vials or ingredients of some sort. All of the tables, benches and even the windowsill were covered in equipment. 

Looking at it all Peter was suddenly filled with an intense rage. Grabbing the nearest jug Peter launched it across the room where it shattered loudly. His own cries of anger accompanied the commotion as he swept his arms across his desk, sending all of the contents flying. 

In that moment, he hated everything in the room. He hated every medicine, ointment and potion that he had helped create, he hated the claustrophobic atmosphere of the room. He wanted to smash it all. 

Most of all he hated Mr. Anthony. If the apothecary hadn’t sent him away, then none of it would have happened. Michelle wouldn’t be married to another guy. They would still be happy together and Peter wouldn’t feel like his heart had been ripped out.

His breathing heavy, Peter turned to his mentor’s desk, intent on destroying the man’s alchemy apparatus. Peter snatched up the miniature chemical furnace and was raising his arm to throw it through the window when he saw Michelle’s gift to him lying on the work bench. 

In his haste to see Michelle earlier Peter had completely forgotten about the flower and, in his current state, he didn’t think to wonder why it was down in the workshop instead of in his jacket pocket (it had fallen out during one of Peter’s earlier escape attempts).

Upon seeing it all of the anger left Peter, as if someone had turned off a tap, and instead a wave of pure grief seized him. Picking up the fabric, Peter opened it to look at the black dahlia. After the adrenaline of his rampage, Peter felt emptier than he ever had before. With nothing left his legs gave out and, clutching Michelle’s gift to his chest, Peter lost himself to despair.

Anthony was walking back from seeing Malinda when one of his neighbours stopped him to say that there had been an awful racket coming from his workshop. When pressed, the neighbour confirmed that they had seen Peter entering the shop just beforehand and Anthony immediately figured what had happened.

Making his way through the shop, Anthony gently opened the door to the workroom. Peter’s worktable was upended on the far side of the room and shards of glass covered the floor. Books were strewn everywhere and the ladder up to Peter’s attic was in pieces underneath the hatch.

Hunched over in a corner was the broken shell of Peter, his shoulders shaking with sobs, a worn piece of fabric clutched in his hand. 

Anthony slowly picked his way over to the crying boy, doing his best to avoid the broken glass. Crouching down he placed a gentle hand on Peter’s arm. At his touch Peter’s hand dropped away from his face and he looked at the older man with an expression of such grief that if it was possible for a person’s heart to break for another, Anthony’s would have cracked right there.

‘I’m so sorry, kid.’

Peter gestured uselessly with his arm and thudded his head back against the wall. His focus shifted to the piece of fabric in his hands, his fingers rubbing at the soft material. 

‘I don’t understand,’ Peter said quietly. Tears still slid down his cheeks, but he had long ago given up wiping them away. ‘When I left things were great. At least I thought they were. Then I come back and…’ He sighed heavily. ‘I saw her, Sir,’ Peter continued, flicking a glance at Anthony. ‘In the square. I tried to talk to her but she just…’ Peter trailed off, his words failing him as another hot lump formed in his throat. His body shook as fresh sobs won over his control. ‘How did this happen?’ he asked, looking directly at Anthony, begging his mentor to give him the answers he didn’t have. 

Anthony gripped Peter’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know all the details yet, kid, but I can tell you that this had nothing to do with you. There is nothing you could have done.’  
Peter rubbed his shirtsleeve across his nose, sniffing noisily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Let’s get you up and sorted out first. Then, I have something to tell you.’ Standing, Anthony helped Peter up. Taking stock of his wrecked workshop he added, ‘If you promise not to break any more of my stuff.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear any thoughts you have!!


	3. Do you have my flower?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle settles into her new life and the significance of the black dahlia flower is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone reading and enjoying this fic! If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave a comment!

The day following Anthony’s meeting with Malinda, Peter is sweeping up in the workshop. Anthony had given him no quarter when it came to cleaning up the mess he had made and, after hours of work, it was almost back to normal. 

Peter stifled a yawn and rested his forehead on the end of the brush in his hands. He had not slept much the night before, his mind whirring with the information Anthony had told him: Harry had given MJ a love potion. The idea baffled Peter. With a tired sigh, he ran a hand over his face and resumed his sweeping.

A short while later Anthony joined him, carrying two mugs. 

‘How are we doing in here?’ Anthony asks, taking a look around. ‘Oh hey, you almost can’t tell you tore through here like a charging troll.’

‘I’m really sorry Mr. Anthony,’ Peter said, his tone meek and apologetic. He was not an aggressive person and to have lost his temper to such an extent made Peter feel deeply ashamed. 

Anthony picked up a large beaker. ‘You’re buying me another one of these.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Anthony leant against his workbench, studying Peter. The older man had given Peter the night alone to digest the information from Malinda but, after a full morning of silence, Anthony was ready to discuss the next stage. 

‘Where’s your head?’ he asked.

Peter stopped sweeping, his hand fiddling with the handle. 

‘I’m still not sure I fully understand.’

Anthony took a sip of his drink and held the other one out for Peter. Peter propped up the broom and took the offered mug. 

‘Which bit?’ Anthony asked.

Peter shook his head in frustration. ‘All of it.’

‘Pete.’

‘No, I do,’ Peter corrected at Anthony’s tone, ‘I just…can’t believe Harry did that.’

‘Well, he did,’ Anthony said, and Peter noticed the faint disdain in his voice. A small smile pulled at the boys’ lips, touched by Anthony’s loyalty to him and MJ. 

Taking a large gulp of his drink, Anthony placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and steered him towards a table at the back of the workshop. 

Peter sat and sipped from his mug. He was still reeling from the past few days, but the turmoil of emotions had settled down to a dull, persistent ache. 

Anthony pulled something out of his pocket, placing it intentionally in front of Peter. The ache in his heart shifted to a painful vice at the sight of folded fabric. 

‘What is the deal with this?’ Anthony asked.

Gently, Peter ran his fingers over the fabric, before opening it up to reveal the black dahlia. Peter sighed.

‘I gave this to MJ the night I told her I loved her,’ he began, a sad smile gracing his lips. ‘MJ preserved it. She gave it to me as a keepsake while I was away. She wanted it back when I returned but I guess that’s not the case anymore.’

Anthony didn’t show any reaction beyond a short nod of the head. 

‘Keep hold of it, kid. You might still get your chance.’

++++++++++

In a small clearing in the forest is a pool of water, crystal clear to the bottom and the source of life to many woodland creatures. A ring of trees stands proud around the edge, acting as sentry. The trees determine who is worthy to find this spot of beauty, lifting their branches to reveal the pool or locking branches to keep the gem hidden. 

When night comes, moon and starlight shine upon the calm surface, creating an ethereal illumination. Life blossoms in the pool: fish, frogs and small snakes all dance in their watery world.

It is believed that this pool was once home to water nymphs, back when it was connected to a river. When the nymphs left, they blessed the pool, letting it remain as part of their legacy. Michelle didn’t know if this was true but, as she stood at the water’s edge, she could believe that the place was magical. 

The boy who stood beside her was fidgeting. Since their arrival he had barely looked at her. Instead he kept glancing at his hands, which he was keeping hidden from her. Michelle smiled, feeling a flutter in in her chest, a deep hope causing her heart to beat faster. The romantic in Michelle hoped that he might be about to tell her that he felt the same for her as she did for him. 

MJ,’ he said, softly, his voice anxious and then he took her hand in his. Butterflies erupted in her stomach at his touch, his calloused fingers cradling her own, before he placed something in her palm. Looking down MJ saw her favourite flower sitting in her palm.

MJ smiled, the sweetness of the gesture threatening to overwhelm her. She looked up and saw a bright light, obscuring the face in front of her. 

Her smile turned to a frown. The light was wrong, it wasn’t supposed to be there. The calm that MJ felt slipped away as the details became obscure and the pool and the boy faded to black.

MJ rubbed a hand across her face. Her awareness was coming back, sharpening as the light grew stronger. Blinking, she opened her eyes. She was lying on a soft mattress, her face sunken into a fluffy pillow and the prostrate form of her husband lying beside her. Her mind was still clouded by the misty haze of the forest, but the warm feelings lingered and with a smile she ran a hand down Harry’s arm.

Harry stirred at her touch, rolling over to face her, a sleepy smile matching her own.

‘Good morning,’ he said, reaching out to push a few stray strands of hair away from her face.

‘Morning,’ she responded. Michelle leaned forwards and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Morning light streamed in through the window, its warmth caressing her skin. 

‘You look beautiful in the morning,’ Harry said, taking the opportunity to admire his wife as she lay tangled in their blankets. ‘It makes getting out of bed so much harder,’ he said, placing a long, drawn out kiss on her.

Despite his words, Harry untangled himself from her arms and slipped from the bed. Michelle felt the cool air swoop in, and goose bumps erupted on her arms and chest.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Father wants to see me,’ Harry said, already in his dressing room and calling for a groom.

‘Can it wait? I did just wake up.’

‘No, sorry.’

MJ wrapped one of the blankets around her shoulders, clambered out of bed and walked to her own dressing room. Several dresses had been laid out for her. Michelle knew that she was supposed to call for a lady to help her dress but that was a protocol that she wasn’t comfortable with yet. Along with that, she didn’t feel particularly enamoured with any of the dress options available. All of them were beautiful, with delicate stitching, layers and patterns; they were all designed for someone who wasn’t Michelle.

Pushing down her uncomfortable feelings, Michelle walked over to Harry’s dressing room, leaning against the doorway.

‘Have you told your father about my proposal?’ she asked. 

You might remember earlier in this story that MJ had had a meeting with Harry on the day Peter went away. Michelle has been working on a petition to reform working conditions for labourers in Quburgh. With her father being a merchant Michelle has been around workers her whole life and she was disgusted with the poor conditions she saw them working in and the level of exploitation to which they were subjected. 

Through years of research and persistent persuasion she had finally managed to convince her father to improve the working conditions for his employees but taking on the entire structure of the Dukedom was a far harder task. Ironically, access to the Duke’s own library had provided her with an invaluable asset in finding evidence to support her arguments. 

She had been discussing her objective with Harry for over a year by the time we joined this story and just because she was now married to Harry didn’t mean that she was going to stop.

‘Not yet, but I will,’ Harry answered. 

Michelle was disappointed but not surprised. Change took a long time, particularly for something so entrenched in the structure of society but she would be lying if MJ denied that she was a little hurt at Harry’s reluctance to at least give her cause a fighting chance.

Tying the blanket around her chest, Michelle walked over to Harry. The groom had not arrived yet and she took advantage of their moment of privacy. Tilting her head up slightly she looked him straight in the eye. 

‘Are you aware that the little muscle in your jaw clenches when you lie?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t lie to you,’ Harry deflected.

‘Your jaw just clenched,’ she challenged, not letting him off the hook.

Harry sighed. ‘It hasn’t been the right time.’

‘If people waited for a right time then nothing would ever get done,’ MJ said, and she placed her hands on his biceps, gently running her thumb over the muscle there.

Harry smirked. ‘I’ll do my best.’

MJ raised an eyebrow at him, judging the sincerity of his comment.

It was at this moment that the groom arrived – with impeccable timing, MJ mused – so Michelle returned to the bedchamber. She sat on the bed and let her mind drift back to her dream. A soft smile graced her lips, a smile that is borne from the happiest of memories, where the feelings from those moments can’t be contained.

That night by the pool was when Harry had confessed his love to her and had given her the black dahlia flower. It was the happiest of MJ’s life, bar their actual wedding day. In all of the excitement of the wedding Michelle realised that she hadn’t asked for the flower back but now, with the memories of that night swirling in her mind, she decided that it was about time she did.

‘So, can I have my flower back?’ she asked from the bed, when Harry came back into the bedchamber.

Harry frowned, the confusion clear on his face. ‘Flower?’

Michelle stared at him. ‘Yeah…the keepsake I gave you when you left for those couple days.’ She eyed him, unable to believe that he didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘The black dahlia,’ she added when he didn’t respond, trying to ignore the pit that was growing in her stomach.

Harry walked over to her and, running his hands over her hair and kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘I’m sorry, I lost it.’

MJ pulled her head back.

‘You lost it?’ she asked, making no effort to mask the disbelief in her voice.

‘Yes,’ Harry continued, his hands moving to her arms to run them gently. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry, I know it meant a lot to you.’

Michelle pulled away from his grip and walked away from the bed. She couldn’t speak for a moment and she definitely didn’t want to look at him. The flower was their secret love token. Michelle was struggling to comprehend that Harry had lost it and, even worse, didn’t seem that bothered that he’d done so.

‘It meant a lot to us Harry, how could you lose it?’ she asked eventually.

‘I am sorry, let me make it up to you,’ Harry said as he approached Michelle and pulled her into a hug. Michelle didn’t return his embrace. ‘We’ll have dinner tonight on the balcony, just the two of us.’

‘That doesn’t fix this, you know,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he said. He rubbed a hand up and down her back, but MJ was too upset for that additional contact and she pulled away from him. 

‘Your father will be waiting, you should go.’

Harry looked at Michelle; he felt torn. He knew that to leave now would not go down well with his wife but to not go would put him in bad favour with his father. 

With a sigh he reached out to stroke MJ’s cheek. 

‘Dinner, on the balcony tonight,’ he said, then he turned and left.

Let me be clear, Harry is not a bad person. He made a bad choice, yes, but one or two bad choices shouldn’t define one as a person. Harry is, like the rest of us, cursed with being human: he is emotional, irrational and, unfortunately, on this occasion, ignorant.

Harry was not aware – though he really should have been – how tricky magic can be and, more importantly, how tricky witches can be. Harry believed that his request for a love potion was simple – if MJ drank the potion she would be in love with him – and therefore he did not consider all of the complex strands that are involved, such as personal history and memories.

Harry had become aware that Michelle seemed to have some memories about the two of them of which he was not aware. He didn’t understand where this development had come from. His best guess was that the potion had created memories in Michelle’s mind in order to create a history of a romantic relationship between the two of them. The witch could have informed him of this he thought bitterly, displeased at what he saw as deliberate treachery from the witch, particularly since the same memories had not been given to him. As soon as he had the chance he would confront the cursed witch and demand to know exactly how the potion worked. 

For now though, he has some damage control to do so he summons a servant to him.

‘I need you to get something for me. I need to you find a brooch of a black dahlia.’

‘What is a black dahlia, Sir?’ the young servant asked.

‘It’s some kind of flower. This is urgent, I need it before tonight.’

With that instruction the servant set off and Harry left to start his day, pushing thoughts of flowers to the back of his mind.

The next day MJ is walking through the town. She passes by the dock, on the off chance she might catch her father. As she walks along the boardwalk, Michelle watches the people around her. Many of them are loading or unloading cargo from the ships and, as always, Michelle sees the tattered clothes, the infected injuries that some are struggling to hide, the pinched hunger in their faces and guilt sits heavy on her heart. Absently her hand reaches up to touch the new brooch attached to her breast and her mind drifts to her dinner with Harry the night before.

True to his word, Harry had arranged for a bountiful dinner on their balcony, just the two of them. 

‘You haven’t touched anything,’ Harry had observed, halting his own eating. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Have you forgotten this morning already?’ She asked.

Harry winced, remembering all too well the apparent faux pas from this morning and the business with that flower. Despite his best efforts he had kept thinking about their conversation from that morning throughout the day. 

Taking a sip of his wine, Harry held Michelle’s hand in his, running a thumb softly over her fingers. ‘I have not. What can I do to make it up to you?’

‘You could not lie to me again,’ Michelle said.

‘Technically, I didn-‘, Harry began but, at the look on Michelle’s face he stopped. ‘Of course, I will not ever lie to you again from this point on, I promise.’

Michelle watched him carefully and Harry got the sense that she had something else to say. He had known Michelle many years and she had an aura of determination when she was focused on something dear to her; she had such an aura about her now. She still had not eaten any of the food or touched any drink.

‘Why won’t you give my proposal to the Duke,’ she asked finally. Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it was direct, and Harry could tell that he was being tested already. 

Harry loves her passion, her strength and honesty but he deems the way she utilises these strengths to be problematic, not least because it was culminating in a petition to change the form of his father’s rule. Now, that is not to say that Harry wanted to change MJ entirely – far from it – merely tweak her a little. His love for Michelle is different from Peter’s in this way. Harry loves Michelle as he believes she could be, if he could curb a few of her impulses but Peter loves her exactly the way she is.

Harry had believed that once MJ was in love with him she would drop this endeavour, that when Michelle was under the effects of the love potion she would become more malleable, that her love for him would be the most important thing in her life and channel her intelligence and drive into their relationship and life in the estate. This was another poor assumption he had made in how the love potion would work.

‘I know it’s important to you -’

‘It’s not about me,’ Michelle interrupted. She looked over the balcony, beyond the grounds of the estate, to the town. ‘It’s about the people. Did you know that when the Queen originally founded this area everyone was treated fairly? It was literally the Queen’s Borough and it was under her jurisdiction that every person had decent amenities, even those doing the lowest jobs.’

Harry nodded. He had learnt that in his history lessons.

‘That’s ancient history, Michelle,’ he said.

‘So? Does that make it irrelevant?’

‘Of course not but a lot has changed since then, the rule has changed, the size of this area has changed – a borough to a Dukedom! The same economic and social structures can’t be applied to both a small borough and a large Dukedom.’

‘The majority of people in the town work every day of their life for little more than a pat on the back and a loaf of bread.’

Michelle looked down at the extravagant meal that Harry had arranged for them. The setting was beautiful – candles, flowers, wine, fruit, meats, sweet breads but Michelle felt uncomfortable with all of it. She had been swept up with the excitement of the wedding but as she sat in her new dress, surrounded by the opulent furnishings in their suite, Michelle felt cold and full of shame.

‘I think I am done,’ she said, standing up. ‘This meal just doesn’t feel right.’

Harry stood up and caught her as she tried to walk by. ‘Where is this coming from? Do you think of me and my family as monsters who don’t care about the well-being of the citizens of Quburgh?’ Harry tried to keep the hurt out of his voice but echoes of it slipped through. It cut to think that Michelle harboured such disdainful feelings towards him.

‘I don’t blame you or your family Harry and I don’t think that. I know the laws governing Quburgh changed long before you and your family, but I do think that a blind eye has been turned for too long. You and the Duke could have the chance to enact real change, good change. For me, I just need to find a way to reconcile all of this,’ she waved a hand at the extravagant meal, ‘with helping the people in the town. If I knew that my proposal was at least looked at by your father, it would go a long way to helping with that.’ 

Harry absorbed Michelle’s words, letting the weight behind her request settle. He had no doubt that her proposal would be an incredible document – she was an incredible woman – and, though he wished that she would divert her energies elsewhere, he could concede that, at the very least, he could give the proposal to his father. The Duke would likely not do anything with it and by acquiescing to her request Harry could help Michelle to settle in to being his wife. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling settling in here?’ he asked. He brushed a few wayward strands away from her face, his fingers gently caressing her cheek afterwards.

For the first time that evening Michelle lost her assurance and a sad expression settled on her face. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was unsuitable to be married to you, that I wasn’t the right fit,’ she said, her voice quiet.

Harry leaned down to catch Michelle in a long kiss. 

‘Never,’ he said, when he pulled back. ‘And I will talk to my father about your proposal. Will that help you feel a little more comfortable? I want you to be happy here.’

‘I am happy with you,’ she said, smiling at him.

‘I have something for you,’ Harry said then, and he pulled out a small box. ‘I know I lost your keepsake and I am sorry for that, but I hope this will make up for it a little.’

Michelle rolled the box over in her hands, curiosity getting the best of her. Sitting inside was a glass brooch of a black dahlia. Michelle gently picked it up and held the brooch up to the light. The candlelight glinted off the corners, the light creating flickers of flame inside the glass. 

Michelle smiled softly. ‘Black dahlia,’ she whispered. ‘It’s beautiful but…’ Michelle hesitated, not wanting to appear ungrateful but she put the brooch back in the box and handed it back to Harry. ‘Harry, after what we just talked about, I don’t feel right accepting expensive gifts.’

‘It’ll be the only one’ he said. ‘I promise, I will never give you anything nice again, ever.’

Michelle laughed and at the sound of her laugh Harry’s heart lightened. He gazed at the beautiful woman before him, thanking the stars again for granting him his wish of having her for his own.

When he gave her the box again, Michelle took it and again admired the brooch. The sting of Harry losing the original flower still lingered but the gift was providing the first layer of balm to the hurt.

Now, stood at the dock, looking around her Michelle felt a sense of triumph. After years of research and doors shut in her face, she had finally managed to get her proposal to at least be shown to the Duke. It had taken her opening up and being vulnerable to get it done, which had been terrifying, but Michelle believed that it would be worth it. 

Finding that her father wasn’t at his warehouse she headed for Mr Anthony’s apothecary shop. Every week without fail Michelle has gone to the shop to pick up her father’s medicine. She had wanted to check in with him first to see how he was doing but, as he wasn’t about, she would go and collect it anyway. 

The medicine itself is not important but it is important for you to know that it was through these weekly trips that Michelle first met and grew to know Peter. 

Peter knew the exact date and time when Michelle would walk through the door of the shop and, as their acquaintance grew, he had made sure he was always in the shop when she arrived. Before they had officially become an item and Anthony was subjected to awkward small talk and shy smiles, the apothecary would sometimes deliberately annoy Peter by sending him on errands at the exact time Michelle was due.

This morning however Peter was actively hiding in the workshop. He knew that Michelle would be arriving at the shop any moment and he didn’t know if he could handle seeing her again so soon. It had only been two days since he had spoken to her in the market square, his heart wasn’t ready to see the plain way she looked at him now. 

However Peter, just like Harry, is only human and so well the door-bell jingles he can’t help himself from hiding behind the workshop door to hear the sound of her voice. 

‘Hi Anthony,’ MJ said and Peter could hear the smile in her voice. A terrible yearning pulled at him, urging him to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and never let go. He shouldn’t be doing this to himself, he should go up to his room until she had gone. His limbs remained in place, however, ignoring what his good sense was telling him.

‘Good afternoon Michelle,’ Anthony replied. ‘I assume you’re here for your father’s medicine?’

‘I am.’

‘I must say I’m surprised to see you. I would have thought that with your new position you wouldn’t have time for your old errands,’ Anthony said.

‘It’s not an errand, I like doing this. I have no intention of stopping.’

Peter smiled – that was his MJ, strong willed in everything she did. 

‘It is to your credit. Also, congratulations on the wedding. I didn’t get a chance to say so on the day.’

Peter’s stomach twisted at Anthony’s words. He knew that his mentor had been obligated to attend the wedding, but it still stung that he had gone. 

‘Thanks,’ MJ said and Peter couldn’t resist peeking through a crack in the door to catch a look at her. The moment he saw her expression he wished he hadn’t; she looked really happy. 

‘That is a lovely brooch,’ Anthony said, gesturing to the adornment attached to her dress. 

The dress MJ wore was a simple cut in a pale peach colour that offset her skin beautifully. The yearning in Peter intensified and he was about to wrench himself away – he was just torturing himself at this point – when his eye caught the brooch to which Anthony was referring. Peter’s throat went dry at the sight.

Michelle ran her fingers over it fondly.

‘Harry gave it to me, as a gift,’ she said and Peter noticed the soft look in her eyes, the look that used to be reserved for him. 

‘Is it significant?’ Anthony asked and Peter’s eyes snapped to him. The apothecary’s face was unreadable, but Anthony knew damn well what the significance was. 

‘It is,’ MJ said, not giving too much away. Peter knew that she wouldn’t reveal much more to Anthony. MJ wasn’t one to share much personal information. 

Peter needed more information though and, abandoning his plan to stay hidden, he opened the door and stepped into the shop.

‘Hey,’ he said. MJ looked at him, surprised at his sudden appearance but she gave him a small, close lipped smile. For his part, his heart started racing as soon as she looked at him.

‘Hi Pete,’ she acknowledged. 

‘You look nice,’ Peter said, before he could stop himself. 

‘Thank you,’ MJ responded. There was an uncomfortable silence before she asked, ‘Are you feeling better?’

It took Peter a moment to register what she was referring to but then their talk in the square came rushing back. She had thought he was feeling ill.

‘Um, yeah, thanks,’ he said, awkwardly. 

She looked ready to leave so he quickly followed up with, ‘I’m sorry for the other day. I was not being myself.’ 

‘It’s okay.’

Peter glanced at Anthony who was still stood behind the counter, watching the interaction with interest. He was clearly waiting to see what Peter was planning to do, having changed his original plan of keeping out of sight.

Swallowing hard Peter forged ahead. 

‘I heard you telling Mr Anthony about the gift from Harry. Can I have a look?’

A small look of surprise crossed MJ’s face, having not anticipated such a request from him. 

‘Um, sure,’ she said, removing it from her dress and holding it out for him to see. 

‘It’s…it’s lovely,’ he forced himself to say. ‘That’s a black dahlia, right?’

‘Yeah, how did you know?’

Peter shrugged. He was looking down at his feet now, unable to look at the brooch or at Michelle. 'It's your favourite flower.' 

‘How’d you know it’s my favourite flower?’ Michelle asked, suddenly eying Peter curiously. Peter's eyes snapped to hers, panic building quickly at her suspicious gaze. He glanced at Anthony, desperately seeking help but he found no help from his mentor. Until this point Peter hadn't considered the possibility that MJ wouldn't remember telling him this secret of hers. How would she react if he told her the truth? She would probably think him a liar, or worse, some kind of stalker. 

Peter crossed his arms over his chest, frantically trying to come up with an explanation.

‘Harry told me,’ he lied.

MJ didn't say anything for a moment, though Peter could see her processing his explanation. He swallowed nervously, watching for MJ’s reaction. 'Harry is the only person I ever told it was my favourite flower. And he told you,’ MJ said, her tone accusing, and Peter recognised the look on her face. She was going to confront Harry about it. 

‘It was an accident,’ he blurted out. ‘I caught him buying the brooch. I shouldn’t have told you,’ Peter continued. His palms were starting to sweat. He was mentally kicking himself. Why couldn’t he have left it alone? He was just making things worse. She would leave and talk to Harry and ask him why he blurted her supposed secrets to Peter, then Harry would figure out that Peter knew something was up and Peter would most likely never find a way to get MJ back – 

‘It’s okay,’ Michelle said eventually.

‘So, you won’t tell him? That he told me,’ he couldn’t resist asking. 

‘No,’ she said, and Peter calmed down only when he saw that she meant it. ‘It’s sweet all the same.’

Peter forced a tight smile. He felt simultaneously relieved and sickened – relief that she wouldn’t confront Harry and sickened because yes, it was sweet, that was why _he_ had found the flower for her. 

Michelle brandished the medicine. ‘I should go.’

‘Bye,’ Peter said, watching her leave. Once she’d left, he uncrossed his arms, his hands instead gripping the edge of the counter. Dropping his head Peter let out a long breath.

‘Peter -‘Anthony began.

‘I can’t believe this.’

‘Pete-‘

‘That son of a bitch!’

‘Pe-‘

‘The black dahlia flower, Anthony! Did you hear her? ‘He’s the only person I ever told’? That’s horseshit, she told me, not Harry.’

‘Maybe she also told Harry. It’s not exactly an incriminating secret.’

Peter shook his head, his face scrunched in confusion as he paced behind the counter. His adrenaline was spiking, and he couldn’t keep still. ‘No, she wouldn’t. MJ is - ’ Peter stopped. MJ was soft, the softest, gentlest soul but that was hidden behind a hard wall. Peter knew that MJ hadn’t shown that side of herself to Harry. Peter was the one honoured to know that side of her. 

‘No,’ he said again. ‘Trust me, she wouldn’t have revealed something that personal to him.’

‘She might have done so after she had taken the potion,’ Anthony postured. ‘It’s been over a week, they could easily have talked about it within that time.’

Peter shot Anthony an annoyed look. ‘Are you on his side now?’

‘No, but there is a lot going on here that we don’t know. You should keep that in mind, Pete.’

Peter rubbed his hands over his face. He was so tired. 

‘That doesn't explain why she doesn't remember telling me,’ he said, dropping his arms. 

Anthony walked over to Peter and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'Come with me, there's someone we should talk to.'


End file.
